Ivan and the bear
by Koschai
Summary: One of these days, England finally managed to coax America into Animagus-training. Wonder over wonder, he actually went through with it. But the result leaves said American … greatly unamused. Ivan stumbles across a bear in the forest. And then it gets weird.
1. Okay

**I have no rights. (TLT) **

So I finally came around to upload that. And before any of you flame me. It's CRACK. Don't take any of this seriously. I didn't either.

* * *

**Ivan and the bear**

_By Koschai_

* * *

'Okay, lad. Now just… - relax, okay? You know what I meant with mediating, right?'

America snorted, annoyed.

'Of course, Arty. You only repeated it _every_ second minute or so.' He gave England an exasperated look. 'For the last three hours.'

England huffed, book open at the concerning pages next to him. 'Well, I only want you to be careful. There's so much that can go wrong during animagus training...' The other trailed off.

'You mentioned that.' He deadpanned. 'What I can't understand is _why_ do you want me to do it so badly then, eh?'

Apparently, England wasn't just overbearing, he seemed to have selective hearing too, for the sand-blonde simply settled down on the couch across the room, as if he hadn't said anything in the first place. He scowled.

'Well, I start now.'

He saw the other nod faintly before he closed his eyes, to follow the _instructions_ England had likely repeated to him for what had to be at least a thousand times since he had pulled him aside during the last world conference.

To ask him to 'assist' him.

Whatever that was supposed to mean.

Well, who was so daft to arrive to one of England's Tea Parties _alone_? He not, anyway. So he'd dragged his brother along. And Germany, just in case Arthur wanted him to play guinea pig for one of his …meals again. But after five minutes of sitting there spooned between Germany and his brother on one of these much-too-small Victorian sofas and watching England sip on his tea and talk, talk, _talk_… he sincerely wished he had turned on the door step. And that wasn't even the worst to come.

England started to talk about MAGIC.

Somebody up there had it out for him, he suspected it before but now… it was official. Magic. _Magic_ and bunny-out-of-the-hat and neon-colored tissues and what not. He felt his eyebrow twitch just by the memory of that evening. And no, England had not been so generous and spared him the experience. Oh No, he had to transform into a red-clad fox before their very eyes.

Of course, Mattie was excited.

Of course, everyone else just had to learn it now, too.

Well, not everyone... but enough of them for him to feel like an outsider. And enough to give them a reason to make idiotic remarks and, worse, _assumptions_. So in the end he swallowed his pride. (And no, he did not 'gave in'. No.)

And that was the reason why he was now sitting in the center of a hexagonal circle; meditating and 'channeling' his inner animal.

What.

Bull.

Shit.

* * *

And that was the first chapter. Ja, it's short. Next one's a bit longer, hopefully.


	2. Troll Lol Lol

**I don't own. (Do I really need to write that every time?)**

* * *

'Now?'

Of course England would ask that first.

'Yeah, I got it.' He muttered, morose and regretted it immediately when a proud grin spread over England's face.

'HEY! Did yer' hear that? America here found his animal form!' The other raised his voice, announcing it to the whole conference hall. He cringed.

'No, I didn't.'

'What?!' The other gave him an confused look. 'But didn't you just said-'

'YEAH, I KNOW!' He roared; too feed up with all that damn magic-crap to hold his usual absolutely flawless act up. Yes, he was proud of it.

'It's a human! My animagus form is a human, all right!?' And with that he stormed out of the room, seething, before he did something he would regret later - OK, maybe not regret, but - be embarrassed about. Yeah.

England shook his head. 'Honestly. That's not something to get so upset about. I mean, New Zealand's a human too, so-'

Aforementioned shrugged at him. 'I don't really think it's that.'

'Mhm.' England hummed, his mind already elsewhere. With that, his theory was proven. Every nation was able to change (and in the end, able to use magic.) So, now all he had to do was...

* * *

A bear. He was a fucking _bear._ There was no way in hell he'd ever admit that to England, or anyone of that bunch.

What did they say about bears again?

Ah, right. Slow, foolish, _nice._

Why, thank you. As if he needed that, they already believed he was a fat-assed idiot anyway he thought, bitterly.

And the worst part, he was _not_ fat!

No, really, the military doc said he wasn't and those weren't so nice to beat around the bush to begin with. Actually the guy'd told him -not exactly friendly- meal times were there for eating, not for graphing a coffee and whatnot before going back to the X-box.

Sometimes he wondered if those guys had the sight England was always babbling about or something. He let out a weary sigh, putting the game controller down and the earphones off. Tony was right. Call Of Duty really was a life-safer. Maybe he should be concerned that the old chopping woods method wasn't enough as Anger Management anymore, but on the other side…Nah.

Outside, the sun had long set and he went to close the curtains, but the sight of the nightly forest that started behind his garden fence stopped him.

Why a bear.

The fact struck him as odd. A bear was more Russia's department, right?

Russia.

Now that was awkward. He scowled at the vegetation outside and shut the curtains with a resolute thug. Let's just hope that little stunt was enough to let the others drop the matter. For good.

* * *

And thanks to his consequent ignoring of the topic it was indeed several days later until he was forcefully reminded of that issue when he opened his house door to find a massive polar bear staring back at him.

'ARRRGGG!'

He slammed the door shut, out of reflex. But before he remembered that his old riffle was still hanging above the fireplace, someone knocked on the door.

There had been someone outside? And he had possibly denied the guy help against the beast!

Right, why would a polar bear ring his door bell, anyway?

So he opened the door again, carefully, with his revolver in hand. And outside stood - his brother, who was tapping his foot on the floor, clearly put-off. All he could say was a dump 'Where's the bear?'

His brother rolled his eyes. 'Right here, Al.'

'What, you mean Kumajiro? No I was talking about-' He started to say, sleepily.

'About that?'

And before his very eyes, his brother morphed into that overgrown Polar bear from before. He could have slapped himself. Of course, how could he have forgotten about that? His brother resumed his old form again, now just looking annoyed. 'Are you gonna let me in or do I have to stand her all day long?'

* * *

Later, he found that he shouldn't have, it wasn't worth the trouble.

'...and then that riffle was just, like butter you know? You should have seen that hunters face! If I wouldn't have-'

'Mattie.' He interrupted his brother's exited stories about what horrors he had unlashed on the wood's inhabitants of his nation. 'You know, I-'

'Ah, right.' His brother interrupted him. 'Did you really tell England yours were a human?'

'Why're you asking, you were there, weren't you?' He shoot back, a tad too sharp, he thought but his brother didn't even registered his harsh tone.

'You saw me?' Mattie echoed, disbelieving. 'You knew I was there?'

'Yeah?' He asked, slowly. Did he stepped on some kind of land mine, or so? But now, his brother looked close to tears.

'I- I was on the podium, you know? Right in front and wanted to hold my presentation. And-'

Ah, so that's why you show up at three in the morning, he though absently while his brother tried to get the words out without losing it.

'And they didn't even registered I was there! When I tried that with the megaphone India asked me who I was! Can you believe these hosers!?'

He felt a headache rising up at the horizon while he watched his brother taking jet another gulp out of one of these bottles without label. He never felt daring enough to actually ask what was in there.

'Well, they are a bunch of idiots, little bro.'

'Right you are!' His brother agreed furious. 'Fucking Bastards! I don't even know why I waste my time with them...' He took another long gulp, with a quite sniffle. Seeing as the other was leaning against him on the couch, he couldn't do much against the stench of moonshine attacking his nose, but he could - and would - ignore the fact that his little brother was a closet drinker, as always. If he hadn't he would have to admit that he was probably the reason the other was stoned before noon on a regular basis. Bad example and all that shite.

'...Prussia's not so bad though...'

'Ah?' He asked, a tad displeased. 'Is he now?'

'Mhm.' Mattie hummed, hugging his moonshine bottle. 'He's nice. Said I'm awesome - and he knows if I'm in the room or not, you know?'

He would have to talk with Ludwig and that soon.

'He even came searching, you know, after that. He's a sparrow, did you know that, all fuzzy.' Mattie laughed a slightly drunken but mostly resigned laugh.

Yeah, very, _very_ soon, he though while the other seemed to give in to the alcohol, letting his eyes flutter shut with a sigh. Somehow, the idea of morphing to the form of a nearly two-ton bear didn't seem that bad, now that he thought about it. He would most likely be able to grind Prussia in the ground without even trying. And they all though he was a human, anyway... Right, he had to do something about that, since when New Zealand had changed - because nobody believed him - the form he had resumed to had not resembled him in the least.

Well, simulating another form was actually easy, he realized hours later in the kitchen while he fixed breakfast - when was the last time he eaten something in the morning, or eaten anything at all, for that matter - and a hangover cure for his little brother who was sprawled out on the sofa, groaning about the few specters of light that managed to get past the shutters. Nobody knew how they had looked like before the Europeans had invaded the continent and drawing lines after such a long time...not fucking likely.

If they wanted, they could be as daft as a rock.

And he'd found out, they wanted that indeed, very much so. Pleased to have found a solution for that little problem he concentrated back on nursing his brother back from the gloomy form on the couch to a more presentable state. Let's not imagine how that went_._

_'Close the damn curtains already_!'

* * *

There he was. He hesitated, dusting an nonexistent particle of dust of his tweet blazer before approaching his target.

'Russia.'

Addressed turned, slowly, to him with a smile he knew was supposed to express pleased surprise, and it would've done so on everyone else but on him in only seemed menacing - and artificial.

'Da?' Russia said in his usual heavy accented English, putting a folder with something - he didn't wanted to know what - down. 'Is there something I can help you with, England?'

'There is, indeed.' He said slowly, a tad unsettled since it only now registered that they were alone in the conference room, currently. Japan had excused himself to get something for lunch a minute ago. 'It is purely curiosity, but it occurred to me that you had no part in our little project. And I thought -'

'That I already know how to?' Russia interrupted him, airy. 'Then your correct, England.'

'Ah. Yes, something like that.' He said, relived. 'Well, thank you then. That was what I wanted to know.'

The other only nodded and he took that as a cue to leave the room, and that awkward situation. If he had bothered to take a look back, he would've seen the little frown between Russia's eyebrows and the suspicion the nation eyed him would've left him uneasy, but as the only thing on his mind was what he wanted for lunch, he was fortunately spared that freight.

* * *

'So, it's really a human?'

He looked up from his game, exasperated. Again with that bullshit.

Couldn't they just leave the matter alone already? But this was his brother who looked somewhat hopeful at him, for a bit of conversation - and besides that lately, he worried about the other, more than he'd liked to show. If someone as obvious as America is worried, the apocalypse must be standing in front of the door, after all.

'No Mattie. It's not. I just didn't want to show it to them, that's all.'

His brother tilted his head, a strange smile on his lips. 'Why? It's a bunny or what?' He slowly lowered the controller, face void of any emotion.

'A bunny.'

His voice must have been more deadpan as he'd intended for the other flinched, grimacing. 'Well, Prussia said somewhat in that way...'

Again with that fucker. Why couldn't the other see that that idiot was only playing with him, that he would hurt him in the end? Another word with Ludwig was in order and that as soon as possible. Trying to hold the annoyance out of his voice he abandoned the game, if his brother wanted to talk, well, who was he to deny him that? Maybe getting him to go out more often would help, like getting some drinking buddies or a lover or something - as long as it wasn't Prussia!

'So, and what did red-eye said, eh?' His brother laughed, uneasy. 'Ah, he thinks you're embarrassed, and so... well, he don't believe it. Said, it's probably a mouse, like China or a cow or so.'

'Buffoon.' He corrected him, absently. 'None of the others had a form that was alien, didn't they?'

'So it's a buffoon?'

'NO!' He grunted. 'If it was I'd long speared that idiot up!' His brother looked at him wide-eyed. Then his bottom lip started trembling.

Oh shit.

'No, don't - you can't, Prussia's my - my-.'

That simply was not his day. But now that he thought about it; none of the other's forms were alien - which ruled mustangs out, of course. But still, why a bear? He didn't even know which subspecies it was; he only had a short glimpse at himself in the mirror before changing back, out of reflex.

The thought didn't leave him alone, the whole day long, not when he put things right with Mattie, not when he drove the other to the airport, not while he did his paperwork, not even when he watched the evening news, and now, he couldn't even sleep!

...Maybe learning Magic wasn't such a bad idea, he only needed to find the most vicious curse in existence and cast it correctly, after all. And then England would feel his wrath!

He turned, tossed, crawled out of his bed, got himself a bottle from his secret stack, then another one and another.

Still no sleep.

'Okay. OKAY.' He shouted at the empty room. It was half past three in the morning. He fell back onto his bed, exasperated. 'Okay, I got it.'

And so, he found himself sitting in front of his laptop in the middle of the night, researching the numerous sub-species of the North American brown bear. Ignoring the general creepiness of the situation was rather hard at the moment. '…the fuck.' He reached for his most trusted friend, Jack the bottle. He'd never failed him until now, after all.

And of course he found absolutely nothing. Nada.

'What the hell.' He said to the empty room. Would he really let a damn bear rob him off his precious night rest? Well, fine, he had a camera somewhere, there was no harm changing and having some kind of picture for comparison would make more sense than blindly poking around in the mud. So, he did that.

His other form trashed half the room - since when was the ceiling so low, he couldn't even stand up - but fortunately, he had put the camera on the fireplace's sill so it stayed unharmed.

Well.

Now he had something, as embarrassing as not being able to turn around in his own living room was. Why though, he hadn't really- His thoughts trailed of when he watched himself trying to move in the room's narrow space on the tape. His back brushed against the ceiling, his ...paws were as big as a snow shovel. He couldn't believe for a moment that that small mammoth on the screen was indeed him. No bear was that massive!

He played the sequence again; the bear had his eye color. So it had to be him.

He felt himself sit down where he stood, stunned, and then he just played the tape over and over again until he felt calm enough to move again. The ceiling of his room was 220 high, at least. Still, the bear's shoulder reached up there, even touched it - the bump on the back of his head still hurt - and he hadn't even been on his feet, he'd kneeled!

...Maybe it was a prehistorically species, like, the pre-bear or something. He chuckled, a bit helpless. What the fuck was that, anyway? A bear, all right, he could deal with that somewhat, if only he himself know, but a mammoth of a bear? What was the use of that, he wouldn't even be able to do anything in that form, if a hunter saw him that'd be the hunt of the century!

'My living room...' He muttered dazed, the words were slurred.

Did he really drank that much? He looked up - the whiskey on his table was empty, as were the other four bottles scattered around him. He tried to get back on his feet, with little successes. The room was spinning.

'Aw...fuck.'

He slumbered back down, now sleepier than anything else. Best he simply stayed where he was, the couch was still better than nothing. To get there, though, he had to move which caused a pondering headache, as if someone would dance polka up there. And then, his soused mind remembered the thick fur of his other form and how well that had cushioned the hard floor before. A moment later, a mass of dark fur and muscles that took up three quarters of the space had rolled up into a slowly breathing ball. The last thing that went through his sluggish brain was that being some kind of overgrown fur ball had its merits, before sleep claimed him.

* * *

A horrified scream woke him. He blinked owlishly. Then shook his head to rid himself of his usual morning hangover, and then blinked again, disordered because of his strange point of view; until he remembered where he was - and what he was, currently.

A bear. A mammoth of a bear.

Why in all blasted hells did he fall asleep in that form? And why was he in the living room? He moved to uncurl himself but stopped when another scream tormented his ears and hangover-ridden brain.

Fuck.

'OMG! ALFRED! ALFRED WHERE ARE YOU!' His little brother screamed panicked, before he heard hurried footsteps down the corridor, probably searching for what Mattie though was his mangled corpse.

...Why was it always him, he questioned nobody in particular, why did he always woke up to such situations?

He changed back, heading out to the corridor to stop his brother before he went into rooms that... were better left alone behind closed doors.

'Mattie!' He yelled. 'I'm here! Stop it! It's all right, damnit!' The ruckus at the upper level stopped and then, he heard his brother tip-toe down the stairs, slowly, before the other's pale face peeked around the corner.

'...Al?'

'Yeah?' He responded, calmly.

'Be careful.' His brother said, whispered more. 'Get - get away from there, there's-.'

'Nothing.' He said, turning back towards the living room as he spoke. 'See?'

'But there's a beast!' Mattie hissed. 'Get away from there, hurry!'

He sighed. Now he really had no way out of it anymore. Curse him and his stupide. 'There's no beast. That was me, Mattie.'

His brother blinked, standing there in the corridor stunned, for a second. 'Alfred?'

'Yeah?'

'...You're such an asshole sometimes.'

He sighed again, massaging his temples. 'I know, Mattie. Now, let's - let's get us some breakfast or so, how about it?' The other huffed, flustered still but followed him into the kitchen regardless. He heard one of the chairs creaking and grimaced on the noise but went on fixing something for the other. He wouldn't be able to eat until some hours later, probably.

'What did you drunk yesterday?' Mattie asked minutes later while terminating the bowl of oatmeal he had put in front of him while he sipped on his coffee. 'Stuff.'

The other stared at him, spoon half way between mouth and bowl. 'Stuff.' He said eventually. 'Aha.'

He shrugged unconcerned, taking another sip of his coffee, the bitter liquid burning a hot trail down his throat. It didn't matter.

'Do you know that the floor sunk in?' He blinked; halting in what he was doing - washing the dishes - to turn to Mattie who was leaning in the doorframe, a frown on his face. 'It did?' The other nodded.

'Fuck.'

'Maybe you shouldn't change into a mammoth while being inside then.'

'It's not a mammoth!' He replied, hotly. 'It's a bear!' That got him a raised eyebrow. 'It's true!' He shouted, angrily now. Mattie looked at him, disbelieving for some seconds longer before-.

'WHY ARE YOU _LAUGHING!?_

* * *

Soooo...


	3. Chinese Take out

**Don't own...  
**

* * *

The woods around him were peaceful, untouched by mankind.

He liked it.

He liked it a lot, as he found out during the past weeks. As a bear he could go wherever he wanted, as long as he wanted. The vegetation surrounding him while he roamed the forests around his old hut in Alaska put him on ease. More than any vocation ever would.

The only down-path was his reason for being here; the World Conference. But that bunch of nutcases would not prevent him from relishing his new favorite hobby.

Oh no, sir.

And so, he had convinced his boss to book a hotel in the near area telling him that the others changed locations every time too. Why they did that, he didn't mention, of course.

Anyway, he would be able to get some precious hours off before having to go back to the stress of the preparations - so who the fuck cared?

He didn't.

Somewhere, a bird sung, the weather was good, no human in sight, there was an ancient, really, ancient by all means maple tree and behind the thick bole a clearing that lead to his goal: the Clearwater lake glistered in the sun.

Maybe he wouldn't curse England after all, that was certainly a nice and unexpected present he'd received from the morose island. He chuckled, a deep rumbling sound in that form but around him was nobody besides the insects and some stray rabbits but those would vacant the area as soon as he approached anyway. Slowly, he rounded the lake, taking his time - he had it, the others wouldn't arrive before the evening hours. At the other side, the mountain panorama was even more breath taking and he stopped for some minutes, just to take it all in - and to have some nice memories to flee to, later on when the maroons stated babbling again.

Something squeaked.

He stilled, and then turned his massive head towards the noise. There was a mouse.

A Chinese Jumping mouse which sat there frozen on the spot, a small nut in its tiny front paws. For a very long moment he stood there, stunned.

China.

There, direct in front of him, in paw reach sat _China._ In his mouse form.

What the fuck.

He closed his eyes slowly and wished for all there is that the other would show some brain and had fled when he would open them again.

Alas, the mouse was still there, although the nut had fallen of its paws.

He sighed. There, he had given him the chance, so his inner guilty thoughts could shut up now. He raised a paw, slowly - and then brought it back down on the spot where the rodent had sat a second ago. Suddenly, China replaced the mouse, cursing loudly while he shuffled back. ' Ó! You despic-!'

He opened the mouth, revealing two rows of sharp teeth. I dare you, he though. Apparently that warning had not reached the other, who'd jumped to his feet with a gun aimed at him. He swished that thing out of the man's hand as one would take away a toy from a small child. Ignoring the terrified shriek, he crouched down until he could look the other in the eyes.

And then he roared.

The lake's water quivered, the trees shook and birds flew up startled by the noise that echoed widely across the lake. Hahhh... being a bear was wonderful he mused while he watched China run for his life.

Certainly.

After a while of simply sitting there, watching the nature, he stood up with a lazy groan, shaking the leaves out of his fur. So, where should he go next? He pondered while he continued his path away from the main ways and along the mountain down into a vast valley. Time was there still, so he could drag his wandering out a bit longer. Though, he had to aim his way to get out of the forest somewhere in the near area of the hotel then.

But anyway, he chuckled to himself; the memory of China's face was more than enough to entertain him during his endless boredom of the next days.

And so he went westward, through some kilometers of dense undergrowth, past several interesting smelling trails - gee, was that a fox - he encountered a group of deer, some more maple trees of various ages and discovered a hunter's den. He had to remember that one, he thought while he went in a fast bow around it and then found one of his old ways again which he had taken some days before. There where paw prints of wolves lacing it and he followed them, mildly interested, for some kilometers until he came out into a small clearing. It looked rather comfortable, though the wolves hadn't stopped here. Should he follow them a bit more or head back? The sky was turning dark already, so it had to be late, at least six or seven PM. With that thought in mind he stood up where he had sat down before - a rustle in the bushes stopped him. He turned, slowly. And then couldn't believe his eyes at first for what he looked at was unmistakably –

Russia.

Goddamn, what was it with him and these strange encounters today? He turned, fully intending to make his way out here as fast as possible without leaving a trail of destroyed greenery behind.

'Ah, wait! Before you go, Medvedev, did you see Yao-Yao somewhere?'

He stilled. Did the guy really just spoke to an animal? He turned his head, slowly to find, indeed, Russia had asked him, who by all means looked like a homicidal nightmare of a bear, if he had seen China.

Slowly, he raised a paw, pointing it at himself as if asking if the other indeed meant him.

Russia nodded.

He lowered his paw.

Yao-Yao. Yao. Yao. YAO.

'KIL.' What was it with these two, anyway?! What made him worth the attention Russia paid to him? He just couldn't see what was so special about that menace who though himself wiser beyond god only because he was slightly older than the rest. He scoffed. Well, guess what? He wasn't alone with that, certainly not! He cast Russia a glare, morose, which didn't face the other in the least for he only adapted a slightly puzzled look.

'Did I say something wrong, Medvedev?'

Oh, _hell_ no.

He held up a paw, with two claws extended as if having graphed something small, like a certain mouse's tail between them. He tilted his head, as if asking.

Russia nodded again.

If he had been in human form his evil grin would've split his face, but as he was currently sporting claws and fur, only the corners of his muzzle perked up slightly. The opportunity in front of him was simply too good to miss.

He opened his mouth, pleased to find Russia's eyes widened with the motion.

He brought his paw with the claws still extended to his muzzle, as if putting something into it.

Then he stage-gulped.

And then he did something stupid, only because he could, and blew the guy a raspberry before high-tailing out there.

Russia's face was priceless.

* * *

My imagination kind of scares me at the moment. Ah well...


	4. Seriously, dude It's not worth it

**I don't own. (as always.)**

* * *

The conference room was unusually silent the next morning, but that had probably something to do with the fact that China had gone home the day before, refusing to stay a moment longer in a country full of 'rude' animals. He grunted on that, annoyed. What did the guy expect?

That they wiped their mouth with a napkin after mauling their prey?

Russia had been oddly quiet during the whole ordeal, explicitly after China had voiced his opinion about brown bears, and bears in general. Truth, he felt sort of hurt by the words too and he wasn't the one who had them as his national animal.

But honestly, for someone who tortured puppies the guy was really to softhearted sometimes.

As always, he zoomed out after the first hour, as the host he had the questionable honor of presenting first and the rest didn't interested him that much so he resolved to watch his guests instead.

Or, more, one particular guest.

Did China's words really cut that deep, he wondered, eying Russia out of the corners of his eyes. He looked straight out depressed. Someone poked him in the side.

'Stop glaring.' His brother mouthed to him. 'The others are already staring.'

He scowled darkly; displeased upon being interrupted - but quickly re-schooled his expression to one of interested indifference once he realized he'd done so. England was talking now and suddenly he was rather glad for the 'improvements' he'd made on his headset. Reaching into his poked he pushed the 'on' button and the second the Bluetooth needed to connect later, one of his favorite songs filled his ears, droning out his new enemy's monotone voice_. …Mommy doesn't have her head anymore, keep it underneath my bed on the floor; that's alright though; that's ok... _Ah, maybe he'd lived to see the lunch room after all.

Mattie only gave him a scandalized look.

* * *

'You're humming again.'

'What?' He turned, a bit out of it, to his brother. Mattie rolled his eyes at him.

'You're humming. Stop it. They're giving you weird looks.'

Indeed, the ones standing behind them in the queue that had formed in front of the buffet were staring rather...fearful. Hach.

'Aw, Mattie∼' He warbled cheerily while he shoveled some backed potatoes onto his plate. 'You know exactly that I don't give a flying fuck!'

His brother groaned. And groaned again when he saw to which table he headed to, but Russia still looked depressed and he was called much but definitively not a bad host!

'Mind if I sit here?' He asked, pointing at the free chair across from Russia. The guy's head snapped up and a long moment, he simply stared with surprise.

'Please.' He said then, with an inviting wave towards the free chair.

'Thanks.' He sat down, Mattie following him after a brief moment of hesitation. After that, an slightly awkward silence settled over the table. But they were at lunch, not at a cocktail party so he simply speared the first piece of broccoli and brought it to his mouth - before the stench hit him. He swallowed dryly, opened his mouth, closed his lips around the fork's load and chewed. Then came the worst part: he had to swallow. After some seconds of battling his stubborn tongue he'd made it.

Okay, one task done, many jet to come.

He ignored Mattie's concerned sidewards glance, skillfully, as well as the openly curious one Russia cast his struggle with the food but at least the guy didn't commented on it, something certain others would've done - and had done before.

'Say.' He said eventually, several gulps later - the plate wasn't even half-empty but he'd come further than yesterday so it was okay in his book. Russia was poking listless around in his food, contrary to his brother who inhaled the stuff, figuratively spoken. 'You don't think bears are vile beasts too, right?'

That was what China had said before.

Russia looked up. 'Nyet.' He said toneless.

He felt a broad grin rise on his face. 'Thanks man, that's what I wanted to know.' His brother eyed him as if he seriously questioned his sanity but, he did that half the time anyway so what gives?

'Well, it's just unusual, don't you think? I mean why would-' He went on, using the opportunity his poor attempt on conversation gave him to 'forget' he rest of his lunch - and to get rid of the gloom around Russia, it started to make him gloomy too and that was just ...annoying. After another slightly puzzled look, Russia actually responded.

And so they slowly went into a discussion about what bears weren't, with sporadic input from Mattie once they moved over to the topic of Hunting acts concerning them in Alaska - and he subtle denied the possibility of some measurements China 'suggested' to be done against them.

'America...' Russia interrupted him quietly, eventually. 'Why are you telling me all this?' He tilted his head, as if really being confused by the others question. 'But the bear is your national animal, right? I thought that would make a nice small talk topic. Or did I get it wrong?' He added in a worried tone.

After a moment Russia shook his head in the negative, then 'You know about that?' He shrugged appearing to be unconcerned - actually he was but that motion always just hinted into the negative and that was too useful to pass up. 'Ah, well you know, after a while the evening program gets a bit boring...'

He trailed off, and then shrugged again. And because being drunk will let you do stupid things, he added inwardly. Like, raiding the next bank for shit and giggles, or putting the neighborhood on fire.

Or 'visiting' your fellow nations on Facebook.

Russia stared at him with a rather interesting expression, he thought, while feeling a bit stupid - the Eurasian nation's mask was perfect but one only had to look into his eyes - nobody dared though - and they would tell you books about him. Still, he never would've thought those purple orbs could appear that ...warm.

Mattie cleared his throat, interrupting his little moment of fawning. 'The break's over in five minutes - I just thought you ought to know.' He added upon the slightly annoyed look he gave him. Well, mind you; he had an 'Aw is that kitty cute' moment here, and didn't want to be disturbed, _thank_ _you_.

But now, Russia stood up with an apologizing smile. 'Nu, then we better don't let them wait, da?' And he could only nod, although he found, he hid his disappointment rather well.

Or so he thought.

* * *

Russia hadn't had a good day so far. First, his 'toy' had gone missing the day before and despite that he searched for hours he hadn't be able to find it - although he had an rather interesting encounter along the way - and then, it stumbled out of the very forest he'd searched as if it hid from him on purpose.

Of course it did.

Next, the only thing he thought would help him over the endless hours of bore-doom he suffered during the conference - worse than the Moscow traffic jam - said toy, China had went home.

But not without utterly humiliating him – to his face, no less. There really was no need to insult his national animal like that. And him, for that matter. The sad thing being, China didn't even realize he'd done so. It wasn't as if he really cared about the Asian man, but somehow he'd always though the other would not allow himself to be so ignorant about his 'friend'- and be it only to safe his own throat.

So, he attended the first day of the conference throughout depressed, the aura of doom enough to hold anyone at bay.

He was fine with that, seriously.

At least he hadn't to endure his neighbors forced civility - sucking up, if he was honest with himself - or his sister's 'attention'. That in mind, he forced himself to go on listening to Iran's sermon with the uneasy feeling one of his eyelids had adapted a spastic twitch some when during the last minutes.

Next was England.

'What is America doing?' Two seats away some small Asian country he didn't know the name off whispered to his neighbor. And really when he looked America was-

'He's head-banging.' He said exasperated, though it sounded more like the last groan of a dying man. (Ups.) The other's flinched.

'Is...Is that bad?' Still-no-name dared to whisper back after a second.

Up at the podium he could see England's enormous caterpillars twitch in annoyance all too plainly. 'Not necessary.' He said flatly. 'Just not something you do while pretending to listen to others.'

Still-no-name nodded, as if he really said something worthwhile. Or was that another sucking-up-man? His thoughts were interrupted only minutes later, when England headed straight towards America - sadly the island had gone through with his speech before doing so, but alas, you can't have it all, right?

'Alfred!' England screeched, ripping the cable of America's headset off before the other could react. 'You blasted Wanker, couldn't you at least― !'

'…_For my machine, put him in a homemade guillotine; Blade falls, gonna need a casket; Watch the head plop in a wicker basket_…'

'What the bloody hell is that?!' England yelped, tossing the cable back at the other so he could stop the noise. 'That's awful!'

'But I though you _liked_ Punk Rock!' America countered wide-eyed, in a voice that sounded... hurt. And he looked so _innocent_ by doing so.

'That - I- I - What are you-' England sputtered, flustered beyond words while his face slowly grew red with mortification. And they really still thought America was _nice_. He sighed deeply.

'That wasn't nice.' Still-no-name said quietly, letting him hope for a second. 'He could've hurt his ears doing that.'

He suppressed the urge to face palm at the guy, if only barely. Was it really just _him_ who saw how much of a twisted social sadist America could be?! But now, France had joined in the banter which would soon lead to the usual –

'BLOODY FROG!'

Right. After whole centuries of these two quarrelling he couldn't even think about it as something else than another program point in the normal conference's routine, and if he tried to. Eventually, Germany reached the end of his patience and after some ear-splitting shouts the silence in the room was restored. He sighed. He should've brought a book or something, knitting was only helpful as long as you didn't have pessimistic thoughts floating around in your mind.

* * *

They had pelmeni at the buffet and he took some, having fleet the conference room as soon as they announced it being lunch time. Most of the tables were still vacant so he settled for one in the back - but with an escape window in close proximity - so he had a bit time to think.

About China, mostly.

Being friends had its advantages, he could come over (spy) as much as he wanted on the other and what he saw lately only proved the suspicions which had motivated him to approach the other in the first place. Apart from that, the more he got to know the Asian man, the more he found his character...concerning. Oh he was nice alright, if he wanted to, but there were some traits that reminded him uneasy of a certain ancient empire. He had to watch his 'toy' a bit longer. Can't have him shot him in the back when he didn't look after all.

damn da-da damn da-da damn damn damn da-da damn-

He glanced up from his plate. America had entered the room and was now standing in the queue in front of the buffet, humming gleefully - which was in all good coincidence really nothing short of a threat - until that nation nobody ever seemed to remember stopped him. The two really looked remarkable alike, he mused, then remembered that he thought that during the last conference too - and during the one before that, too. Maybe the guy was cursed.

'Aw Mattie∼'

So, Mattie was the name of that man, he noted absently - who was he anyway, America's twin-brother?

'You know exactly that I don't give a flying fuck!'

He had to withhold a groan. What was that about being the 'nice' guy? But when he looked closer, America appeared to be a bit ...worn out; at least he thought that, seeing as nobody else seemed to notice the slight maniacal glint in the other nation's eyes from whom he once thought had the color of a summer sky. Now, they only reminded him of the arctic sea.

Cold, deep and full of undesirable surprises.

Regardless, that development was interesting enough to get him away from his gloom about China, at least somewhat.

'Mind if I sit here?'

He looked up to find America had put a hand on the back of the chair on the other side of his table. Why would he want to sit here, of all things he thought bewildered. The other ignored him consequently in the normal case, as he himself did. But remembering his manners - had he stared - he gestured to the chair.

'Please.'

And America actually settled down, along with, ah now he remembered, it was Canadia, right? Though the guy didn't seemed too pleased about sitting here, seeing as he cast glances to the table where the BTT had settled down every other second. But Canadia soon slipped his mind completely when he witnessed America's eating habits.

A fierce battle against his food, really.

Maybe he should suggest using a PEG tube, he had that too after all - every time the elections came up and that was by far the easiest way. But bringing that up now would probably not be very well received so he simply ignored it after a while. And then America started asking him about his opinions about bears. He couldn't help that the assumption arose that the other only did that to confidently 'forget' about his full plate.

* * *

So I finally came around and posted the next chapter... for the two or three people that actually read this, if I'm honest, but -

ah, Never mind.

I finished the epilogue, I think I said before that I already finished most of the story, it's not long, I promise, and I'll post the rest when I fell like it.

Bye.


	5. Filler: That's Not Normal

**I don't Own A thing (besides my OC's)**

* * *

'Of.' Mattie said beside him, standing up from his chair with a grimace about having to move so suddenly after three whole hours of sitting. But he could only agree, he felt as stiff as a board. He needed to get some fresh air.

'Well, I'll step out a sec'' He called over his shoulder, sauntering out before anyone could object - or worse, called him back. Just to hold up the charade, he dug around in his bomber jacked for some cigs -and actually found some, too. Hadn't he bought Lucky Strikes instead of these, last time?

Whatever.

Sometime later he found himself again making his way through the undergrowth between the forest the hotel grounds bordered at, a national park and the whole reason why he suggested that particular one, beside its closeness to his Alaskan residence.

And maybe because the food was good, too.

But now that he thought about it, he was kind of sleepy - having something in his stomach always made him drowsy - and that small clearing there looked rather comfortable... Figuring he could as well have a rest here as in his hotel room, he settled onto a large batch of moss and started sunbathing. All around comfortable, he closed his eyes for a short nab, lulled in by the tranquility of the forest surrounding him. Sometimes he really wondered why he even went back. It was certainly more enjoyable being a bear...

'Medvedev!'

Suddenly a merry voice called out, with obvious delight to have found him. He froze rigid. There was Russia, standing a mere meter away between the bushes as if he belonged there.

Again.

He hadn't even heard him approaching - which was scary in its own right - and now the other came closer, with a happy skip in his pace. He should have fled as soon as he heard that voice was what he thought, somewhat resigned. Maybe when he pretended to ignore him, the other would get bored?

Well, one could certainly hope.

'My, you unquestionably are well-built.' The other said, in Russian again.

I'm not fat, was what he wanted to scream, but seeing as he was a bear currently, all what came out was an angered growl. 'No, you aren't.' Russia agreed.

He stilled, blinking down (hah) at his fellow nation.

What the hell?

But Russia only smiled up to him, not in the least concerned that he could easily maul him, - no really, him being, well, himself, in that form he certainly could without any problems. Although, Russia probably thought he was a normal bear and thus, he'd be able to win against him should it ever come to that. Which he wanted to avoid, if possible, since being absent often was something he could explain somehow but blood stains on his clothes? Not very likely.

His musings came to an abrupt halt when he felt something soft and warm on his stomach, giving him a light squeeze before retreading.

'See you later!' With that, Russia calmly walked away, back into the woods, and all he could do was staring blankly at his retreating back, unblinking.

...

Did the guy just _hug_ him?

* * *

That must have been his overly productive imagination, he thought later during the third - and last - session of the day. Purely his imagination. But in the evening, it was the same picture.

_'Medvedev_!'

He went as early in the morning as possible the next day, took a whole new path, but still:

_'Medvedev_!'

In the evening of the same day, he managed to tip-toe out the back entrance, eventually. England really started to get on his nerves. And then he crawled trough the bushes along the lake until he was sure he wasn't being followed, not by Russia nor by anyone else of the bunch.

After taking another glance around he made a beeline to the woods, then halted to see if someone would reveal himself when the person thought he was gone.

Nothing.

He shook his head at himself. It was only paranoia, nothing more. Thus assured, he leisurely strolled for a few minutes before changing, confidently hidden from view between two large rocks. He sighed, stretching his muscles with a large yawn. Now, where should he go this time? Maybe inspecting that hunter's den a bit closer wouldn't be such a bad idea, just in case that they - There was something rustling in the bushes. Ever so slowly, he turned towards the noise.

_'Medvedev_!'

* * *

Ja. I know. It's short, even for a filler chapter.


	6. MAMA! Medvedev!

**I don't own. **

***TRIGGER WARNING* (More swearing than usual, Mentioning of over-the-top violence, torture and MCR lyrics.)**

* * *

'With that, I again like to thank you for your attention. This is the end of my presentation.' Taiwan clapped her hands together as a final gesture before snapping her laptop shut.

He let out a relieved sigh. The last session of this month's conference was finally over. Still, they had a whole free evening before the bus that was supposed to bring then to the airport would arrive tomorrow morning. He wondered distantly what America had planned for the remaining time, since as always the host planned the last evening for them - usually some kind of dinner party. He'd invited them to a premiere at the Moscow theater last time the conference had been held at his place and he had noticed, to his relief; most had enjoyed it too.

Well, apart from a certain Englishmen.

Focusing back from that memory to the present he watched as America walked up to the front. Somehow he had the feeling the signs of weariness had intensified, or was it just him? He wouldn't be surprised if the guy suddenly broke out into hysterical cackling - but maybe he was only seeing things. The day had been long, after all. Although entertaining, that's for sure, he chuckled to himself. Maybe he should stay a couple of days longer. The wildlife around here was certainly ...interesting.

'...So it's up to you.' At the front, America shrugged at them to show it was out of his hands. Apparently, he had missed the most of the mans little speech while he'd spaced out.

Again. That took a turn for the worst lately, he thought, not really concerned.

From the exclamations around him, the other had simply reserved every opinion the hotel had to offer for the evening and that included the pool area, the large ball room on the ground floor and the karaoke bar in the basement.

Ah, well.

'...But of course, you all have at least three hours until dinner so, go and get some rest, folks!' And with that, America stepped down from the podium. Did he just stagger, or was that his imagination? But, three hours, Humh...

* * *

_'Medvedev__!' _

This time, he actually screamed in frustration.

'...Am I going on your nerves?'

He nodded, giving Russia a deadpan look.

'I'm sorry.' Russia said quietly then. 'It's just, I'm going home tomorrow and I wanted to say goodbye so...' He trailed off, and if he hadn't known that he most certainly hadn't any booze until now - A miracle - he would've thought it was a hallucination - but Russia was fidgeting.

Nervously.

Good grief, the guy actually sounded _hurt_! He hung his head with a suffering sigh. And then he slammed it onto the ground, ignoring Russia's concerned (!) shout.

That just wasn't _happening_.

* * *

'I CHALLENGE YOU!'

He flinched, looking up from his glass. Hungary pointed her micro across the room at America who seemed frozen in his seat; glass stopped half between mouth and table.

'Challenge?'

'Yup! Either you sing a song from The Black Parade or you gonna accompany me to 'You're next' tomorrow!'

'What?! NO!' America yelped. 'How can you do that to me!? That's a horror movie!' Hungary's wide smirk indicated that she was keenly aware of that fact, as well as America's abnormal phobia of these things.

'...And which song?' America said finally, in a doomed kind of tone.

'Mhm...' Hungary pretended to ponder about that, a finger on her chin. 'You're gonna sing...'Mama'. Yeah, that'll do nicely.'

He frowned. What kind of song was titled 'mama'?

But America seemed to know from which track she spoke for he seemed to pale a good couple of shades while the rest of the audience watched with growing glee. 'But, that's needs a second voice!' He finally sputtered. 'And what about the choir?'

'It's Karaoke, Freddy.' She rolled her eyes. 'Stop winning, come on everyone had a gig already! Only you didn't.'

Perhaps she had a shot Barack - or two - too much he thought, nursing his own glass. America sat a moment longer there before letting out a long, suffering sigh. 'Okay.' He said, before adding, sullen. 'But I demand a second voice. I'm not gonna do that alone.'

She only shook her head, exasperated. 'Well, besides you, I think only Russia didn't have a go so...'

He froze. But it was already too late; everyone had turned to him with various expressions, ranging from horror to spitefulness. It was rather hard not to grimace at them. Of course, they had already embarrassed themselves in front of the whole world, why should _he_ come off the hock so easily?

So, he simply stood up, feeling very much as if he walked up to the gallows but either that or he had to storm out right now.

And he didn't run.

America eyed him with a strange sort of expression but then handed him a micro without commenting. 'The blue lines are mine?' He asked the other. America nodded.

'Do your worst, Please?' Hungary battered her eyelashes at America, jokingly. Said man glowered at her, morose.

'As if I've got a choice. '

'Right, you don't∼' He never had known Hungary could look so ...sadistic. That day was really full of surprises he thought absently, noticing the music had started and became louder. It was eerie, somewhat.

_'Mama, we all go to hell_

_Mama we all go to hell..._'

America sounded strangely smugly for such a line. Maybe he should have run after all. Besides that he had absolutely no idea how that damn thing went …da, running started to sound increasingly better, he grimaced. There's a reason he hated Karaoke, and _singing_.

_'…Mama we're all full of lies_

_Mama we're meant for the flies_

_And right now, they're building a coffin your size,_

_Mama, we're all full of lies...'_

America nodded to that, agreeing, before making a mocking bow in his direction _'Well, mother_' He lost against the urge to roll his eyes at the others antics. That joke had a beard that must reach until Kamchatka, honestly.

'_-what the war did to my legs and to my tongue'_

America showed him a nasty grin, pointing towards his legs and face respectively. And then stuck his tongue out at him and he was at that moment rather grateful it was quite dark in the bar because there was a gaping hole in the other's tongue and the shock that he was unable to hide for a moment must've been written all over his face. He needed more Vodka.

_'…A place for just your mind; You manners when you go_

_And when you go don't return to me my love...- that's right.'_

_'MAMA!'_ America interrupted him before he even finished, startling him with it. He scowled at the blonde. Who wasn't fazed. Okay. Somebody would pay. Painfully. How about his Boss and then his Vice and then the American ambassador and then... While he fantasized about the complete annihilation of the world's top politicians, one person at a time, the other hollered on, amusement whipped of his face for whatsoever reason.

_'We all go to hell_

_Mama we all go to hell!_'

The blonde graphed him by the arms, distracting him from his mental vendetta. He felt his eyebrow twitch in annoyance when he took in the state of agitation America was in. Which fool was it who slipped him those shrooms every time? Or why was he - he stopped. He would recognize _that_ kind of hollowness everywhere. He had seen it too often in the mirror after all. And from that close proximity he recognized _something_ else actually, fond it in such masses it chilled him to the bone. Intriguing. He smirked, leaning a bit closer than necessary.

_'It's really quite pleasant...'_ He said, giving it a low, husky tone before pinching his nose. _'Except for the smell-' _He couldn't help the excited grin on his face. But he really had to do something about that idiot who gave out those drugs. He really didn't want to experience HER on a trip. His little sister was already bad enough when she was sober.

_'…And if you would call me your sweetheart,_

_I'd maybe then sing you a song...' _

America leaped back so suddenly it startled him, explicitly seeing that resenting, bitter - oh so bitter - sneer on the other's lips.

_'But there's shit I've done with this fuck of a gun, _

_You would cry out your eyes all along!'_

He blinked, dumfounded for a second, since America had graphed his hand, had put a hand on his hip and unmistakably started twirling him around in a fast-paced waltz, to the tune. All in a fluent motion.

Where was his pipe when he needed it?

'_...We're damned after all _

_Through fortune and flame we fall_

_And if you can stay then I show you the way to return to the ashes you call...'_

Woe him if he dared to stomp on his toes… And why the hell was _he_ playing along with it?

_'…And return to the ashes you call.' _

No stomped-on toes. That was good for the hotel personal, he supposed – they wouldn't have to deal with the hassle of trying to get the gore off the walls. But apparently, America suffered from severe mood swings. He padded the other on the back, awkwardly, while the blonde sobbed on his shoulders. Meanwhile, the music ended with a sole violin, as did the shaking of America's frame against his. He frowned.

Then, there was silence, before someone of the others started to clap, soon followed by the rest. From what he heard, it was France, but he paid them no attention, because, ever so slowly, America raised his head.

And then cast him a horrifying, face-splitting, completely deranged grin.

His eyes must have been comically wide for a second later the other released his arm, removed his hand from his hip - still there? - and then cleared his throat as if he hadn't a moment ago whirled him around to a song that sounded as if the fallen soldiers of his old battlefields sung it in the background, before progressing to act out a minor melt-down.

'Sorry.'

An apologizing smile, perfectly _sane_, was thrown at him and he could only smile back, too shaken still. And because he couldn't decide if he should get mad or not.

'Guess I went a bit too much into it, eh?'

'There's no such thing as 'too much'! That was awesome!' Hungary had skipped over to them, a strange glint in her eyes he found highly worrisome for reason that escaped his grasp however.

'So, I'm off the hock?' America asked hopeful. Bastard.

'No way!' The brunet replied cheerily, obvious to America's dismay. 'But I invited Prussia and his boyfriend and -'

_'Boyfriend_?'

He blinked, as did Hungary at the question, nothing more than an angry snarl. And somehow he was even more surprised about the sudden stab of disappointment that hit him upon the other's fury. Where did _that_ come from?

'Well, yeah? His boyfriend.' Hungary said carefully.

'And?' America had regained his composure apparently. 'Do I know the fortunate?'

'Err...Wait; I know I heard his name at some point. I spoke to him, didn't I...?'

She seemed a bit confused, but America's face was quite ...scary for a short moment. Huh. Well, that's certainly new, he mused quietly but stilled when he heard the blondes next words.

'Let me guess, he was blonde, had glasses...'

Hungary nodded after a moment while he suddenly remembered how much he actually hated Prussia, now that he thought about it.

'Drags a polar bear everywhere around, has a maple leaf in his flag...'

Hungary nodded again with a much less confused look while he still had no clue from whom America actually spoke.

'You, mean Canada, right? My little baby brother?'

That had been delivered with a sugary smile. And he fought the urge to slap himself. No wonder - and why in all hells was he so relieved?! Hungary seemed to be frozen on the spot but America ignored that deliberately.

'I'd loved to come, what about you, Russia? Up for a movie?' He hesitated a moment but then - It couldn't hurt, right? And that resulting situation would certainly be interesting.

'Why not?' He asked rhetorically. 'When did you say you wanted to go again?'

* * *

'_We let the fire just bath us, you made us oh so famous we never let you go...and when you go don't return to me my love...'_

He stilled mid-step. There was laughing coming from one of the now vacant conference rooms. And faintly, he could hear his own voice, the song from yesterday. Please, don't say someone had a camera ...of course they did. He hung his head before, carefully, opening the conference room door to find - North Korea and a group of others, the BTT among them, sitting in front of a laptop. On the piece of the screen he could see him and America, midway during their little performance.

No.

They did _not_ make a video and then loaded it up on YouTube. Nyet, he couldn't possibly be surrounded by such _maroons_! No, not maroons, fools fit it better, he realized, his hands trembling in rage. Prussia laughed again, apparently tipping a comment to add. He reached for his pipe.

'KOL'

As he'd anticipated, the group stilled. He opened the door all the way, which went with a horribly creak as such always did when he was mad. Slowly, Prussia turned to him, as slowly as he went blue once he realized the origin of the sudden chill in the room.

'Might I ask what you are doing there?' He asked with a saccharine smile.

'R-Russia...'

He felt a vein on his temple pulsating. 'Why don't you enlighten me, eh? I'll give you three seconds.'

'Err, oui, that's- bon-' France stammered, trying to shield the screen from his gaze.

'And that is?' He asked innocently, as if not already knowing. 'Don't tell me..._France_!' He said in mock surprise. 'I really thought you were...smarter than that.' The man took a huge step back, then another as did the rest of them. He cast them another smile.

'I suggest you run.'

And running they did. But not for long, he though grimly, charging after them with wrath on his face and revenge in mind. However, just the moment he rounded the corner he ran straight into - America.

'WHAT THE FUCK!?' The guy staggered backwards but somehow managed to regain his balance with a few staggering steps. 'What - Russia?' The other exclaimed, adjusting his glassed that hung askew on his nose.

'KOL They made a video!' He spat at him, suddenly peeved with him too.

'Video?' America echoed blankly. He gritted his teeth, wanting no more than slamming his pipe down onto the next surface that screamed, as long as-

'KIL'

He stilled. America stared at him, wide eyed as realization dawned, but what surprised him more was ...that uncontrolled expression on the other's face.

America never showed his true feelings in public. Never.

'Video.' The blonde said again, voice void of any emotion. 'What kind of video?'

Huh. Denial.

He gestured back to the room, not in the mood for long explanations. 'See for yourself.' America stared at him a moment longer - it made him kind of uneasy, really - and then went past him to enter the conference room. After a moment he followed to find the other two steps away from the table, staring at the laptop.

'They put it on YouTube.'

'Da.' Slowly America turned his head to him with a sort of baffled expression.

'On _YouTube_.'

He simply nodded. Under America's eye twitched a muscle while somehow ...the sun must've been hidden by clouds for a shadow feel over everything. And then the man in front of him exploded.

'THAT FUCKING _SCUMBACK_!'

The laptop was flung against the wall where it cracked to bits of plastic, then the table followed, scattering the window glass to thousands of pieces. Now that he thought about it, seeing America raging against others was actually quite amusing - just standing by and watching.

'Say, Russia?' The other said after a little pause.

'Da?' He replied with a merry smile.

'In which direction did they go again?'

He gestured with an overly flourished wave towards the left side of the corridor.

'Say, Russia?' The other repeated, still in that soft, dead-calm voice.

'Da?'

America looked up from the ruins of the laptop with an expression in his eyes that told a tell-tale of his mental state, to those who wanted to see it, anyway. But nobody on earth wanted to, would deny it until it was too late.

'Mind if I join in?' The man in front of him asked, fishing up a chainsaw from somewhere. He smiled in response.

'I'd loved to, America.'

* * *

Sooooo...

It's been a while. I've been busy - for some reason, I've gained a live outside the net, totally out of the blue! No, I'm serious, it attacked me!

not.

Apart from that, - please don't kill me - most of this chapter was written on lonely Saturday nights, and I was more or less pissed.

\- which might explain why this gained resemblance with a song-fic.

.

.

.

I have no excuse.


	7. I see the assassins have failed

**Don't own.**

* * *

Mattie was angry with him. He was scowling.

So, why, he thought, why didn't he feel an ounce of remorse? Maybe because the white-haired menace had screwed the rest of the positive image his boss still maintained, despite his best efforts.

He had wanted to destroy that alone, damn it!

Or might it be because he had proudly declared Mattie's house as his own - The nerve - or ...no, that wasn't it. It was because Prussia had somehow gotten his brother to believe him that he was serious about their relationship. He scoffed quietly. As if. That guy was a goddamn player! Just you wait until he found the two of them a nice, gloomy, dark dead-end and then...

'Al.' His brother interrupted his dark musings, toneless. 'You're humming again.'

'Oh? Do I?' He replied airily, before taking another sip of his er, lunch.

Prussia stared at him from across the table, well, out of the single eye that wasn't swollen shut of course. Their little gang was a rather strange assortment for a movie, he noted absently. Besides the two Lovebirds (KIL), there was Russia sitting next to him and Hungary who'd brought Lichtenstein with her for some reason - which meant essential, Switzerland and Austria were there too. They were currently sitting at the dinner table next to them together with France who had joined in, after a short whispering with their brunette organizer and last but not least; England. And somehow he had the feeling; he'd seen Japan crouching around behind the counter for some random reason. What were they still doing here, anyway? Couldn't they watch that damn thing in their own cinemas?

'You're still angry with me, America?' Prussia said, strangely timid. 'I mean, I know it was unawesome that I didn't ask you first before uploading that thing, but-.'

Yeah, yeah, yada yada etc. etc. He suppressed a growl. Fucking sucker could shove his sucking-up there where the sun don't shine.

'No.' He said, in a voice that told the exact opposite. 'Why are you asking?' His brother gave him another annoyed look. Better not risk it.

'Nun, because you didn't got yourself any hamburgers. I thought you loved them.'

He stared at the man, face carefully blank. Oh, yeah that would go so well with the two of them. Best buddies and all that. Maybe he should invite Red Eyes to the Yankee's next match. And then shove him down the stands.

Accidentally, of course.

He'd be absolutely devastated to see his new brother-in-law lying flat as a pancake on the ground. It would simply shatter his black, little heart.

'Your point being?'

Prussia laughed upon that, uneasy. 'Just saying.'

Hah. Really now.

'And I though you dislike my love for hamburgers.' He replied merrily. 'And there I wanted to spare you from my, err, obnoxious table manners, - you called it?' He added, mimicking slight puzzlement. Prussia paled. And he desperately wanted to pat himself on the shoulder, but, alas, enough was enough. Mattie wouldn't forgive him otherwise, now would he?

* * *

Darkness settled in the room, slowly the illuminations dimmed, the conversations ceased, silence...and the screen flashed white for a second before progressing to show them the absolute cliche of a beginning scene of an horror movie; all in somewhat off-colors what gave the whole a slightly dreary atmosphere. America quivered in his seat, retreated into the upholstery as much as he could. The lights weren't even out for a minute and the man was already terrified, he wondered - maybe the origin of his phobia wasn't so much the movie but the cinema? Well, the soundtrack could certainly make someone anxious, at least that, from what he read on the movie poster it wasn't such a new story. Only with more blood.

Minutes later, he was tackled. He shoved the arms off, lapidary. He'd expected that when he'd seen that nobody wanted the seats directly next to America. Besides France, but that was why England had apparently come along, since he had dragged the other off to the far end, by his ear.

'Popcorn?' Hungary asked on his other side. America shrieked high-pitched. 'You want some too?'

'W-What?' The man sounded absolutely terrified. He didn't get it; the movie hadn't even reached the scary part. They were only having dinner, for Steve's sake!

'Popcorn.' Hungary said again, offering them the box. He could see America shaking his head in the negative, wildly, during a sequence where the screen wasn't totally dim. He took some out of the box, watching one of the main actors entering? an apparently empty room at the upper floor.

'Don't go in don't go in don't go in' America chanted next to him, trembling in his seat.

'Da, he's quite idiotic, isn't he?' He commented unconcerned.

America screamed again.

That was actually fun... During the next minutes he went on making the odd semi-loud comment which, to his glee, startled America every time he did so. Hungary giggled, offering them the popcorn box again. On the screen, a blonde twenty-something - why are they always blonde – got stabbed to dead in a very messy way which he would've actually enjoyed watching if not for the constant tucking on his left arm. America had grabbed his sleeve sometimes ago and as much as he tried, he couldn't shake his hand off. Out of the corners of his eyes he saw Prussia and America's brother doing something entirely else and from then on he didn't look in that direction anymore.

And somehow, he was a tad glad the other was far too caught up in the supposed horrors of the movie to notice anything else. That would prevent the bouncer from having to point them towards the exit because America threw furniture around again.

Several shrieks and a mass of popcorn later, the movie finally reached the part that he would find at least moderately interesting. The villains, having cornered their last victim, had taken up the hunt. Through a dark forest, of course, he thought, not in the least surprised.

They were never really that imaginative with where they got their templates for their stories.

Suddenly, he felt himself being grabbed by a pair of arms from left and picked up. And then he was sat down again. Slowly, he turned his head.

'Any special reasons why you deem your lap more comfortably for me than my seat?'

He could hear Hungary chocking on her spit. But America clung to him like chewing gum to a shoe sole, as he found out when he tried to get back to his seat.

'Please...' The blonde whimpered against his back, tightening his hold even more. What was it with him and being manhandled lately? He sighed, patting the arm around his torso, awkwardly. 'I can't breathe.' But in that very moment, somewhere on the screen the main actress finally lost it, starting her own murderous rampage with very wet background noise. Well, it served its purpose. America squealed against his back. 'Oh god oh god oh god∼'

'America...' He said, slowly. 'It's not that scary, just very bloody. Nothings gonna happen. Come on; let me go, I really can't breathe.' Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say for America clung to him as if he was the last straw between him and a bottomless abyss.

'NOOOOOO∼'

And as if to aid the panicked man who would soon have squeezed him to death, another actor made her exit in a particularly gory way, accompanied by bloodcurdling screams, the shrill shrieking of misused kitchen tools and a fanfare in the background.

'OH MY GOD∼'

He sighed and then wiggled until he sat more comfortable. If America thought he needed him as some kind of safety blanket, then he would have to life with the fact that he would use him as a seat pillow. 'Eliza?'

'Yeah?' Hungary said hesitantly.

'Pass me the popcorn, da?'

* * *

don't worry, I haven't lost the plot of this story.

Jet.

And as you might have noticed, my versions of those two are assholes.

*Please don't kill me...*

(To **silverheartlugia2000**: Update : I looked for the spelling/grammar mistakes. I found them. Now, just let me die of embarrassment in the corner over there...)


	8. Work breaks are for babies

**Don't own. Just my OC's.**

* * *

The curtains rippled in the light breeze coming thought the window. Said window lacked its pane which was lying scattered to thousands of pieces on the rug.

The office' furniture was destroyed. Loose papers, files and thick folders were sprawled everywhere, ripped out or having stepped on by someone who apparently cared little for the annoyances a normal office worker had to go through until he or she had finished so far as the documents in the Russian President's office were normally.

'Ivan?'

The Russian President hesitantly knocked on the massive wooden cabinet standing against the west wall of the room. There was no answer, only a faint sniffle.

'Ivan, you can come out now. She-.' The cabinet flinched, somewhat. 'Err, we're alone, I mean.' The man corrected himself, lamely.

No answer.

'Ivan?' He tried again. 'Davay, you're in there for a whole hour already. The security has locked the building up. It's safe. Please.'

'Mr. President?' Behind him the door had opened, his secretary entered with what looked like a report in hand. From the cabinet came a quiet snivel. He sighed.

'It's only Kovákov, Ivan.'

Still, the embodiment of his state refused to leave his refuge. He shrugged at the man who only handed him the document, ignoring any of the scene's oddities with a placidness that told from past experience.

'Ivan, please this is getting ridiculous.'

There was a moment of silence and just when he wanted to open his mouth to try again, the cabinet door opened with a faint creak, nothing more than a small gap and he could see one of Ivan's eyes scan him and then the room for any threats. After another long moment, it opened fully and Ivan looked at him, dejected and somewhat tired.

'...Vocation.' He whispered hoarsely, eventually, after giving the room and him a long, solemn glance.

'What?' He said blankly and more than a bit worried about his dishelmed state.

'I'm going on a vocation.' Ivan repeated, still in that low tone. 'I've got enough. This whole thing's not gonna work anyway, tell 'em that.'

And he could only watch numbly as Russia limped past him, sporting a horribly gash on the side from when he again refused to comply with his little sister's 'affections'. He sighed.

What was he deceiving himself, the other was right. Maybe it really was for the best. And what could another couple of square kilometers of dense forest bring them, in the end? They had more than enough of that already.

* * *

'OMG _FINALLY_!'

The window rattled but he couldn't care less, they were gone. Away. Not here anymore.

'Gone, gone, gone∼' he chanted happily, relishing in the wisdom of having a whole month of sweet pest-free freedom.

Yay.

After a little joy-dance he flopped down on the sofa, beat-dead. Finally, the last of the bunch had boarded their planes and went home. HOME.

The door opened, making him freeze for a second until Tony peeked his grey head in.

'...'

He rolled his eyes. 'Yeah, I took my pills.'

'...'

'No, they're strong enough, Tony, really. Why don't you go and clone me some more targe- err, kittens, mhm?' He let his head drop back onto the couch pillows with a sigh. 'Just le'me sleep...'

* * *

Well, now he was here. The Windy City. Grey, big, loud. He looked around, scanning the bustling streets, not sure in which direction he should go. But, did it matter that much, he asked himself absently, he would find the train station, eventually. And until then, why not looking around for a bit? He had only been one time to Chicago before, after all.

Strange that he didn't feel out of place here, like everywhere outside of his borders, he thought while watching the cars drive past the group of passers-by he stood with, waiting for the traffic to change to green so they could cross the street and go on with their lives. His messenger bag was a bit heavy now, after half an hour walking from the airport buss' last stop to the tourist information, then back to the station to find he'd have to use the underground would he want to reach his hotel any time soon.

The people around him started to move so he did too, across the black asphalt to the other side and then… He needed to round that corner - there was a zoo - and the following highway down until the second crossroad and then across the square. There would be that antique Iron Gate, and passing it there would be a set of stairs that would lead him down into the underground, to the station he had searched for.

He blinked, a bit disordered.

Why did he know this? He'd never gone that way before, never walked these streets. But it wasn't just that route, the entire city laid before him, every corner, every house, tree, _human_…

He stopped dead, barely registering the startled out-cry from the person which had walked behind him. The woman stomped past him, cursing. He didn't even hear her for he'd realized in that very moment it wasn't just Chicago he'd found in his outer-mind, it was…

What did his boss _do_?

* * *

_'Is Russia here?'_

'What?' He echoed, bewildered.

_'Russia. Has he arrived at your place?'_ His President repeated; the voice squeaky through the receiver.

'At my place.' He said, with growing foreboding. 'No. Why are you asking me that?' He heard his boss exhaling, that kind of exhale someone usually used to flay for time before saying something like 'Your son has been confirmed KIA'.

_'Well, Alfred...'_ His boss cleared his throat. It was worse than he'd thought_. 'Apparently, Russia has arrived at the General Mitchel airport yesterday and...'_

'And why _did_ he arrive at Mitchel Field, boss?' He interrupted toneless. Somewhere was a loud and snapping noise but at the moment he couldn't care less. It hadn't even been a week.

_'He's on the ru- err, vocation. Right. He's on a 'vocation', Alfred.' _

'Vocation.' He brought out, while trying to hold the helpless giggle at by. It was too much. 'Can you wait there a sec', boss? I'll be right back.' Without waiting for a reply he hid the end-button. He stared ahead at the wall. His limps felt as if they'd weight tons. The house was so... dreary all of sudden.

Where did the sun go? Where was his sunshine? _The joy in his life? _

A quiet sniffle escaped him. It just wasn't fair. After all that crazy shit during the last days and now, he couldn't even have a single week in peace.

A pair of three-toed feet tapped through his grey vision of despair and Tony padded him on the back where he rolled up on the corridor's floor. That was it.

'NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO∼'

* * *

10 Minutes and a corridor's worth of furniture later...

'Boss?'

_'Yeah, Alfred?'_

_'Why_ is Russia on the run?'

There was a pregnant pause. And he braced himself for the worst. _'There was an incident...at the Bely dome, my colleague didn't elaborate that topic but-'_ His boss interrupted himself, searching for words. _'It had something to do with ...her.'_ The room was chilly all of sudden.

'And that means essential what?' He said, doing his very best to hold his voice even while he spoke.

_'The Russian President requested asylum until the problem is taken care of.' _

Did he remembered to lock the doors when he'd come back from the grocery's before, a part of his mind wondered. The rest was busy producing an adequate response that didn't involve hysterical screaming.

'How long is 'until the problem is taken care of'?'

_'That's not decided as for yet_.'

Translation: His suffering would last until doomsday. 'Aha. And what did you say?'

_'...I can't just say 'no', Alfred.'_ His boss replied, exasperated. _'They allowed you to stay out the radar after that whole JFK fiasco, remember?' _

'That wasn't my idea! I sure as fuck didn't want to make 'vocation' in Siberia!' He replied hotly. He should've known that issue would stab him in the back one day.

_'Regardless, they did us a favor back then.'_ His boss said. _'We ought to return it anyway.'_ He opened the mouth, closed it again when he didn't found a sufficient counter argument to argue against that fact.

_'Alfred?'_

'Yeah?' He groaned. It was over.

His break.

was.

over.

Over and out.

_'Is there any special reason why you're so against it?_' He paused, not sure what to answer, either with a truthful 'I'M DOOMED' or a merry 'no reasons, boss'. However, something stirred at the back of his mind and shoved that decision as far away as Madagascar. Asylum.

...

WAIT.

JUST A SECOND THERE.

For a moment he couldn't progress the conclusion which that word implied. He didn't want to believe what he'd just heard from his boss' mouth. No, it had to be a mistake. All just his imagination.

'Boss?' He asked, carefully. 'Did you really grant Russia asylum? Here, on US ground? Not just a figure of speech? You really want to say he's here, not in his embassy?'

_'I said that, Yeah. Why?' _

'And the formalities are already finished?'

_'Yeah?' _

The nervous twitch under his left eye had started again. He exhaled before speaking his next sentence.

'You granted _Russia_ asylum. _Asylum_, boss.' There was a moment of silence. 'Please tell me it isn't like I thing it is.' He could nearly hear the infamous click when it finally registered.

_'Oh God.'_

And then there was only the beep* in the line since the President had peppered the receiver on the hook, probably to rush to the constitution to look up the exact wording of that particular law. Or maybe, if he dared hope, did the right thing and phoned the USCIC to safe what could still be rescued. And he, here in the solitude of his home, slowly sunk down to the floor.

'...'

'You're right, Tony. Of course, you'd know best.' He muttered, closing his hands around the new and improved calmative the embodiment of his Immigrants from outer space passed him. 'They weren't strong enough.'

* * *

The phone rung into the prodding silence of his home. He looked up from his bottle, slowly. Tony perched above him on the arm chair he was leaning against and was reading a book about the botanic of the Easter isles. He never fully registered how shrill the sound was to the ears - he should change that someday. It rung again and it really went on his nerves so he reached up to the chest of drawers, feeling blindly for the receiver. Tony craned his neck after the display, mildly interested.

'...'

So his boss had eventually decided to inform him of the end of his live in freedom. Just peachy. He picked the thing up, treading the following conversation as much as he did the next Conference.

'It's over, right?'

_'That dependents on how you see it.' _His boss said, cautiously.

'And how do I see it?'

A disheartened sigh was heard from the other end. _'Only five years from now on. And pray that nobody gets wind of it.' _

'It's over.' He deadpanned. Where was the Whiskey?

* * *

America was lying on the floor, leaned against the wall in a very good impression of a potato sack and didn't look up when he entered. The front door had been locked, heavily, as were the rest of the house's security measurements. But it possessed no problem for him, as 'finding' the man in whole US had been.

_(The Thing.)_

He sighed. A mere thought, and he was where he wanted to be, everywhere within his borders. And now here, too.

'America.' His voice echoed in the corridor. Weird, it didn't appear as if it was built to allow voices to carry. The form on the floor didn't stir. 'America?'

He stepped near, carefully; it did not seem such a nice* place to fall asleep to him, he thought a tad amused. Slowly, the other raised his head and he let out a sigh, at least the man wasn't in some sort of coma, but then he found America's eyes to be kind of glassy, and unfocused. He wasn't even looking at him, but trough him, he realized. And then the stench hid him. Whiskey.

'America?' He tried again, leaning down to touch the man's shoulder. America blinked owlishly at him as if just realizing that he was in fact standing in front of him and he for his part realized with a start – the man was totally pissed.

'… …Russha?'

'Da?'

'Thre's 'phone.' America waved tiredly at the chest of drawers standing on the side. 'Guess yer'now your' boss 'umber.' And with that, the other struggled to his feet and staggered past him.

Brushing him off.

'Where are you going?' He heard himself ask the swaying form stumbling down the corridor.

'Bed; I wanna sleep.' America slurred back to him before somehow managing to round the corner without falling flat on his nose. He stood there a moment longer, unmoving, and listened to the sounds the other made on his quest towards his bed room. Then he picked the receiver up.

* * *

He found the house abandoned when he woke the next morning.

Seeing as America had effectively knocked himself out, he'd took that as an invitation to the guest room for the night. Without thinking about what he found out during the phone call before. It was a bit much to progress, he'd thought. But now, upon seeing the vacant rooms he stood in now that he'd had nothing to distract himself it crashed down on him.

Enough that he sat here, at the table in America's kitchen, with several empty bottles standing in front of him. His President had literally revoked his citizenship. And the worst path, it wasn't even intentional.

It wasn't a surprise that America made a run for it. Still, what was he supposed to do now - go back home? Certainly the easiest way - if it wasn't for the fact that embodiments couldn't just _leave_. At least not for long.

And sure as hell not for a whole year straight.

He took another gulp, barely registering the taste of his favorite poison. Well, there wasn't really anything he could do, he decided. He would simply wait. With that in mind he made his way to the living room, only to find - why was there a hole in the floor? Another point America would have to explain to him - but maybe he should apologize. There really was an alien living here.

'...'

And it really could speak. Sort of. 'Err, America called you Tony, was it?' He said, hesitantly. 'привет.'

'...' Tony nodded to him before vanishing deeper into the house.

'...What's Canada?' He asked himself, wondering if maybe the alien was a bit weird and that's why America never introduced them in person. Driveling about Countries which didn't even exist, honestly. He shook his head.

But apropos America; where was the man anyway? Somehow he didn't get the feeling he would be able to find him at the moment. Was he outside of his borders?

Hours later, it was still the same picture. So he waited. One day, another one. The house sadly fell victim to his boredom, as did the yard around it. But that wasn't his fault, he thought sullen. And it wasn't as if he'd break anything.

He just cleaned it that was all.

But after another day, he had enough. What was he doing here anyway, sitting around and watching the news - doing nothing in the end? He stood up from the couch. Right, now that he thought about it; why not paying a certain someone a visit?

* * *

Well ...


	9. All your prepareations are belong to us

**Don't own.**

* * *

This time he was prepared.

So when the bushes rustled behind him - why always behind him - he turned, sharply to see - the menace.

'Hey, Medvedev!'

Which now sported an slight American ascent.

Maybe he should go, like, now.

In that very moment.

He had the feeling his brain had arrived at that point where the screen goes black and the famous 'system error' sign flashes in the center.

Alas, it was too late.

So, he resolved to employ his oldest tactic. Hopefully, this time Russia would get the hint. He closed his eyes, which was the start of several minutes of silence. Russia's footsteps approached slowly, rounding him in a full circle before the dull noise came to a halt right next to his head.

'You're ignoring me.' Russia accused eventually.

He didn't react but went on lying in the sun, as if sleeping. The wind rustled in the branches. Birds sung in the distance. The sun shone on his fur.

Nope, nobody here. Absolutely nobody besides him and the birds.

And then he was tackled. By something that smelled very much like - bear. Instinctive, he shoved the sudden weight off. His eyes snapped open to see, not even a meter away, a massive brown bear who just the moment struggled to his feet. He really was a bear animagus.

A European brown bear.

But why -

Russia charged him again, aiming for his neck. What was wrong with that _sucker_?! Goddamn! And this time it was pure annoyance that let him react with something a normal bear probably wouldn't know. It was effective, though, for Russia landed on his back with a groan. Didn't bears stand up when threatened? Well, that was a good opportunity as any other.

Huh.

Fife meters, if he hazarded a guess from the view through the trees around him. And Russia's eyes were as huge as saucers, he noted smugly.

He let himself fall back to the ground, landing on his front paws in a position that allowed him to - so he did. Russia seemed to freeze when he closed his jaws around his throat. Although, he did nothing further than that. After a moment of silence the Russia's throat seemed to shrink - oh.

He removed his fangs to see - why in all hells was he _smiling_?!

A happy, blissful smile, despite the fact that he nearly crushed him under his weight only a second ago. He narrowed his eyes at him, laying there sprawled out on the forest ground.

'You really are too nice.'

Oh shit NO. Now he thought he was some kind of-

'Anyway...' Russia went on, adverting his eyes all of sudden. He felt his frown deepen; what was it this time?

'Can you let me stand up?' And then he noticed that practically, he really would crush him completely should he sat down now.

What an interesting idea.

'And well, I'm sorry for that.' Russia said - please not again with that fidgeting, he couldn't stand that. 'I'm just...errr, nu. Stuff happened.' The other mumbled shuffling backwards until he had enough space to sit up.

He himself had enough, too. He dropped down with an exasperated growl. The ground shook in the immediate vicinity. Russia actually bounced up a bit_,_ like a teacup on the table would, should someone slam his fist down next to it. He should do that more often. Though the other wasn't that faced - he blinked.

Wait. Russia as a bear...was a whole lot smaller than him. SMALLER. …

MUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA∼

'...and well, Tony's worried somewhat and his boss has phoned yesterday too, but I just can't find him anywhere and I think I get a bit stressed too if-'

...

Maybe he should go home.

* * *

_I'll post the rest of the chapter some when next week. I'm a bit busy at the moment. _


	10. Surrender your Passport - oh, wait

**Don't Own.**

oups. haven't kept up with my posting. Sorry.

* * *

'America?'

He looked up from the slaughter he unleashed on a battalion of innocent orcs. 'What?'

Russia started to say something but trailed of before even voicing his actual question, too fascinated by the happenings on the screen. '...Is that a wood splinter?'

'Yeah?' He said, now only annoyed. 'It's a cheat, I know, but Tony wanted to try out his new mods and-.' Russia didn't even listen, instead he eyed the game with a kind of strange expression he would found highly concerning had he bothered with it at the moment. 'Whatever.' He grunted, already halfway back on his game. 'What was it that you wanted, now?'

That snapped the other out of his fawning over the blood and gore. 'Err, just...' Russia said. 'Do you know about anything about these nuclear carbonated mummies in the stock rooms?'

He stilled.

* * *

He'd known there was something off with these couples of rooms but there had been a fain breeze, as if the windows were open so he had peeked in, just to check. It wasn't as if there had been any keep out signs, or that the doors had been locked or something. How was he supposed to know? Never mind that, America had turned to look at him with an expression that he had to admit, unsettled him greatly for a second.

'...You were in the stock rooms?'

'Da.' He replied simply, ignoring how the game controller slipped out of the petrified man's hands. 'One of the windows was open.' America stared.

The silence stretched.

'Russia...' The other said solemnly, scrambling to his feet. 'I'm sorry.'

'For what?' He said, somehow curious of what came next. Was the other attempting to murder him in cold blood now? America closed the distance between them with two long strides. 'Really, I'm very sorry.'

'Oh no, it wasn't that bad at all.' He responded with a merry smile, feign ignorance. Or innocence. He didn't care, really. It was just a situation far too interesting to pass on... America went on as if not hearing him. 'But you'll have to stay here from now on, Russia. Either that...'

He tilted his head at the other; he did appear quit ragged at the moment, again. Maybe if he kept that up, he'd have him on the same level of dementia as Siberia, even before Christmas. But maybe, that wasn't the best thing, now that he thought about it. Siberia had commit suicide on him, after all. Not something he'd desired to happen again, there was too much effort wasted otherwise. And one time experiencing such a ...failure was more than enough. Still, it was certainly something to occupy himself with.

America exhaled, padding him on the shoulder as if trying to comfort - or calm – him. 'Or you'll have to allow me to fry your brain now.'

'How so?' He asked unconcerned, expecting his nails.

'Nobody 'in the know' leaves US borders alive. Nobody. Never Ever.' The other muttered darkly. 'Just why did you had to open that fucking door!?'

He shrugged. After a second of waiting for any other reaction, America seemed to realize that it was apparently all he had to say to that.

'...Why did you come here at all?'

He inspected the man in front of him for a long moment, just to unsettle the other a bit. And then, he smiled what must have been a motion full of delight for the other's dismay mixed with bewilderment.

'I've come to burn your kingdom down.' He said casually, and then turned, leaving the man standing there to stare at his retreading back. And the sun was shining brightly outside.

* * *

_'Boss! BOSS! __**BOSS**__!' _

Instinctively, the President jerked the phone away, his ears ringing from America's hysterical screaming. 'What is it?' He said, trying to sound as calm as possible, which was always the best tactic he as his processors found out. That and patience.

And tranquilizers.

His Secretary cast him an questioning look whereupon he gestured the man to leave the OO. 'Coffee, please.'

_'COFFEE?! WHAT __**COFFEE**__? BOSS-'_

'ALFRED!' He roared back. That was also a good tactic. 'Take a deep breath. In, out.' After a moment he asked. 'Did you?'

_'Yes, Boss.' _Alfred answered, still frantic but at least he wasn't yelling anymore.

'So, what's going on?'

_'Russia. Russia said he was going- going to-'_

Where was his red book? He had another paranoia attack to note down. 'What?'

_'He said, he said...'_

'Deep breaths, Alfred. Remember?'

_**'HE SAID HE WAS GOING TO NUKE THE COUNTRY!' **_

He jerked his ear away from the receiver. 'Are you sure you didn't misunderstood him? Did he really say that?' He asked after a second. Nine out of ten, the blonde would simply miss-hear what was said to him, or hear too much.

_'No...' _America replied. _'He said he 'come to burn my kingdom down'. What else did he mean, eh?' _

Oh. No, he was not going to play _that_ part.

'Alfred.' He said after a pause, struggling to give an adequate response. 'I suggest you google it.'

_'BUT- Boss-!' _

'Really, Alfred.' He sighed, resolving to his role as the psychological-care person one more. 'There's hardly anything to worry about. In case you've forgotten, at the moment he couldn't do such a thing anyway, even if he tried to.'

_'Really?'_

'Really.' He said in what he'd dubbed his 'assuring the masses' tone. 'But apart from that joke-'

_'Joke?'_

'Yeah, I'm quite certain it's only a bad joke.'

_'How can you be so sure?!'_ America cried, clearly not convinced.

'Google it.' He repeated his advice. 'Anyway, what I wanted to say before you interrupted me-'

_'Sorry.' _

'Yeah.' He said, slightly irritated to be interrupted _again_ before - did he just apologize? Quickly he cast a glance out of the window. No flying pigs. 'We've come to the conclusion it would be for the best that he stays-'

_**'NO!' **_

'Yes, Alfred. I'm sure you will work it out somehow. It can't be that hard.'

_'But, __**Boss**__!'_

'Please, Alfred. Just do it.' And with that he put the receiver back onto the hook with a definite 'clack'.

* * *

Well that was short. Don't worry, it's not what you think. Be back soon.


End file.
